The next morning, the sun over Manhattan was bright and unforgiving.

In the penthouse office of French Media, Delos stood by the floor-to-ceiling window. He looked immaculate in a charcoal suit, but the shadows under his eyes told a different story. His mind was a steel trap, replaying the gaps in his memory, the humiliation of being drugged in another man's home. The attack on Harmon Holdings wasn't just business now. It was retribution.

"The security footage was corrupted," Marcus reported, standing at attention. "Someone wiped the servers at the Harmon estate between 11 PM and 1 AM. Professionally. We have no visual on who entered your room."

Delos turned. His expression was a mask of cold indifference. He tossed the diamond butterfly onto his glass desk. It spun, a dizzying blur of light.

"They set me up," Delos said. "Richard Harmon invites me to his home, and suddenly I'm dosed with a hallucinogen and a woman is in my room. It's a honey trap."

"We can't prove it, sir."

"I don't need proof to punish them." Delos sat down. "The bid for the Starfall Bay project. Move the deadline up by forty-eight hours."

Marcus blinked. "That's... aggressive. Most firms won't be ready."

"Exactly," Delos said. "Burn them."

At the Harmon estate, the atmosphere was poisonous.

Eve limped into the dining room. She wore a high-collared cashmere sweater despite the warm weather. The bite mark on her neck had bloomed into an ugly, dark bruise.

Julian was already eating, picking at a plate of eggs. He watched her walk in, his eyes tracking her movement like a vulture.

"Rough night?" Julian asked.

"I fell in the garden," Eve lied. She took her seat, keeping her eyes on the tablecloth.

Julian stood up. He walked behind her chair. Eve stiffened, her muscles locking up. He leaned down, his nose hovering inches from her hair.

He inhaled deeply.

"You smell different," Julian whispered. "Like you took a bath in cheap soap to wash something off. But underneath it... there's something else. Something expensive. Scotch, maybe."

Eve's heart hammered against her ribs. "It's from the guests. Someone hugged me."

"Who?" Julian pressed, his hand resting on the back of her neck. His thumb brushed the collar of her sweater.

The door slammed open.

Richard Harmon stormed in, his face a mottled red. He threw a tablet onto the table. It slid across the wood and crashed into the milk pitcher.

"He moved the deadline!" Richard roared. "Delos French moved the deadline! We have two days!"

"It's a power move," Julian said, stepping away from Eve. "He's testing us."

"He's trying to bury us!" Richard turned on Eve. "And you. You're useless. You and that ridiculous 'crisis communications' firm of yours. All you do is manage scandals, and now we're in one!"

"I can help," Eve said quietly. "I know the legal framework for the bid better than anyone."

"You're a publicist, Eve, not a lawyer," Richard spat. "You spin stories. You're an expense."

"I passed the bar exam two years ago, Father," she replied, her voice dangerously low. "You just refused to acknowledge it."

Richard ignored her. He looked at Julian. "Fix this. Or neither of you gets a dime from the trust this month."

The butler, Alfred, entered with a silver tray. "A courier just arrived, sir. From French Media."

Richard snatched the envelope. He ripped it open.

Eve watched his eyes scan the paper. He paled.

"What is it?" Julian asked.

"It's a notice of breach of hospitality," Richard whispered. "He knows something happened last night."

Eve gripped her fork until her knuckles turned white. She stared at the signature at the bottom of the letter. Delos French. The loops of the letters were sharp, aggressive.

She realized with a jolt of pure terror that the man who wanted to destroy her family was the same man whose blood she had drawn. And he was coming for them.

The air in Richard's study was stale, smelling of old paper and desperation.

Eve stood by the bookshelf, organizing files. Her hands were busy, but her mind was racing. She needed a way to deflect attention. Julian kept glancing at her, his suspicion a physical weight in the room.

Julian walked over to her. He pretended to reach for a binder, his hand covering hers on the shelf. His skin was clammy.

"Don't think I've forgotten," he murmured. "You're hiding something. Who was he?"

Eve yanked her hand away. She grabbed a heavy law book and held it to her chest like a shield. "Back off, Julian."

Richard slammed the phone down on the receiver. "They won't extend. We're dead in the water."

Eve took a breath. This was it. The gamble.

"Father," she said. Her voice was clear, cutting through the tension. "I think I know why French is targeting us."

Richard spun around. "What?"

Eve reached into her pocket. She pulled out a scrap of fabric she had found in the hallway that morning-a piece of torn lace from Serena's dress.

"Last night," Eve said, her eyes steady, "I was walking near the guest wing when I saw Serena. She was trying to get into one of the suites. She was... incoherent."

She didn't say she was there. She didn't say she went inside. She let the implication hang in the air like smoke.

"The guest wing?" Richard's eyes narrowed. "That's where French was staying."

"I also know there's a blind spot in the security cameras in that specific hallway," Eve continued, the lie smooth and practiced. "A fact I'm sure Serena is well aware of. If she tried to... force herself on him while he was incapacitated..."

The color drained from Richard's face. "That idiot girl."

"Bring her in!" Richard bellowed at the door.

Moments later, the housekeeper dragged Serena in. She was hungover, pale, and confused. She was still wearing her robe.

"What is going on?" Serena whined.

"Did you go to French's room last night?" Richard demanded.

"I... I don't remember," Serena stammered. "I was drinking."

"You stupid, selfish girl!" Richard crossed the room in two strides.

Crack.

The sound of his hand connecting with Serena's face echoed off the mahogany walls.

Serena crumbled to the floor, sobbing. "Daddy, stop!"

"You ruined us!" Richard kicked her in the hip. "You went whoring after him and insulted him!"

Julian rushed forward, grabbing Richard's arm. "Dad, stop! She's bleeding!"

Eve stood in the corner. She didn't flinch. She watched her sister curl into a ball, watched her father lose control. It was cruel. It was ugly.

But it wasn't her.

"Get her out of my sight," Richard panted, straightening his tie. "Send her to the clinic. Dry her out. I don't want to see her face until this deal is signed."

The housekeeper helped a sobbing Serena out of the room.

Richard turned to Eve. His eyes were cold, assessing.

"Since you're the only one who knows how to clean up a mess," he said, "you're going to fix this. You'll finish the bid."

"I will," Eve said.

"And you'll deliver it," Richard added. "Personally. You'll go to the French Media gala tomorrow and you will beg for his forgiveness on behalf of your sister."

Eve's stomach dropped. "Me?"

"Yes. You. You're the only one he hasn't seen yet."

Eve looked down at her hands. He hadn't seen her face. But he had touched her. He had tasted her blood.

"Yes, Father," she whispered.

It was 2:00 AM. The house was silent, but Eve was wide awake.

She sat on the edge of her bed, a first-aid kit open beside her. The cut on her leg from the champagne bottle was throbbing. She cleaned it with alcohol, biting her lip to keep from making a sound.

The door handle turned.

Eve yanked her pajama pant leg down just as Julian walked in. He was holding an ice pack.

"Get out," Eve said.

"Just bringing ice for the bruise," Julian said, smirking. "Or the bite mark. Whatever it is."

"I don't need your help."

"You need something," Julian said, leaning against the doorframe. "You're playing a dangerous game, Eve. Throwing Serena to the wolves."

"If the company goes under, your trust fund dries up, Julian. You'll be poor. Do you know how to be poor?"

Julian's smirk vanished. "Watch your mouth."

"Get out."

He left, but the threat lingered.

The next morning, the conference room at Harmon Holdings was a glass cage.

Eve sat at the far end of the table. She was dressed in a shapeless grey suit, her hair pulled back in a severe bun. She was invisible. Just the way she needed to be.

Richard and Julian were arguing over the numbers.

"We need to bribe the board," Julian suggested.

"No time," Richard snapped. "We'll use the models. Send the girls to the gala. Distract him."

Eve typed furiously on her laptop. Idiots. Delos French wasn't a man who could be distracted by models. He was a machine. She had felt the cold, hard calculation in him, even when he was drugged.

She stopped typing. Her hand throbbed. The bandage on her palm, where she had cut herself on the glass in her room, was tight.

"Type faster," Julian snapped. He was standing over her with a cup of coffee.

"I'm going as fast as I can."

"Not fast enough."

Julian tipped the cup.

Brown, scalding liquid splashed over Eve's hand. It soaked into the bandage instantly.

The pain was blinding. It seared her skin, mixing with the fresh cut.

Eve didn't scream. She didn't pull away. She went perfectly still, a cold fury rising in her chest. Her eyes lifted to meet Julian's, and for a second, he saw the Fixer, not his sister. He saw the woman who dismantled careers with a single press release. He flinched.

"Oops," Julian said flatly, but his bravado was gone.

Richard looked over. "Clean it up. Don't get it on the documents."

That was it. No concern. No apology. Just the documents.

Eve stood up. She walked to the side table, grabbed a napkin, and wiped the coffee from the table. Then she wiped her hand. The white gauze was turning pink as the blood seeped through again.

"I'm changing the entire bid," Eve announced. Her voice was calm, terrifyingly so.

"What?" Richard asked.

"French isn't after our assets, he's in the middle of a proxy war for his own company. I've been tracking the chatter. He needs to consolidate his power before the next shareholder meeting," Eve said. She remembered the way he had pinned her. The absolute need for dominance. "We aren't offering him a partnership. We're offering him a solution to his real problem. It's a PR move, a strategic alliance that shores up his flank."

Richard stared at her. "You want to offer him... what? A merger?"

"Worse," Eve said. "An alliance so public, so iron-clad, that his board can't challenge him without looking like fools. Do you want to be the chairman of a bankrupt company, or the strategic partner of the most powerful man in the city?"

Richard hesitated. Greed warred with ego. Greed won.

"Do it," he grunted.

Eve sat back down. Her hand was burning, but her mind was clear. She worked through the night. She poured every ounce of her legal and strategic knowledge into the document. She wrote it for him. For the monster in the dark.

At 3:00 AM, her phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: Wear the red dress tomorrow. I want to show you off. - Carter.

Eve deleted the text. Carter Sterling. Another pawn her father was trying to sell her to.

She looked out the window at the skyline. Somewhere out there, Delos French was waiting. She was going to walk into the lion's den. And she was going to make sure he looked at the papers, not at her.